Disclaimer: All characters in the following fic are property of Marvel and are used without permission for entertainment, not profit.

Author's Notes: This is of course part of Mutatis Mutandis, which if you haven't been paying attention is being archived at www.originofspecies.cjb.net This story takes place after 'Home Sweet Home' and about the same time as the third and final chapter of 'Awakening.' You can see where the two converge quite easily I think. A big 'thank you' to the people who've been reading this monster since Day One… I promise soon all points will converge and the timeline will become an actual LINE. Feedback is appreciated, unless it's a plea to make this a Remy/Rogue as I find their relationship to be mutually abusive and done to death.

Interlude at a Cheap Motel

By N

The duty clerk at the Sunshine Motel was paid to do his job, not to ask questions. He had an idea of what went on in the rooms: hookers, dealers, and scumbags hiding from the law. The group who'd come in earlier were real weird though… a bunch of kids. He was curious but… none of his business.

Hope they're not in any trouble, the duty clerk thought before tuning in to a rerun of 'Night Court.'

Outside, a pale white moth banged incessantly against the window, demanding entry.

* * *

"The beds vibrate?" Scott looked at Jean, eyebrows arched in bewilderment, and she nodded in reply.

"Sweet!" Lance whooped enthusiastically and pushed his way past the two senior X-Men to throw himself on one of the beds, digging through his pockets for spare change immediately upon landing.

"The beds vibrate," Scott repeated, apparently trying to get his mind around the fact.

"Yes, Scott," Jena said and placed a hand on his shoulder as though to steady him.

"Hey Kitty, c'mere," Lance cajoled as he plunked quarters into the slot by the bed's headboard.

"Ew, Lance, no. That's like, totally gross," Kitty Pryde replied, trying to remember she was mad at Lance. She forgot her anger and started giggling when the bed suddenly lurched into life, shaking and emitting a harsh broken-lawnmower sound.

"The beds vibrate," Scott said once more. He sounded resigned. Jean patted his shoulder and then walked across the hotel room to the bolted-down television. Kitty accompanied her but was promptly hauled onto the convulsing bed as soon as she got within Lance's snagging reach. She squealed in protest but in a matter of seconds both she and Lance wound up laughing hysterically as the bed tried desperately to jitter across the floor.

"Oh man," Lance exclaimed. "If I fucked on this thing, I think I'd hurl."

"Charming," Jean muttered as she turned on the television.

Scott meanwhile took a seat in one of the uncomfortable chairs provided near the door and stared at a horrible watercolor painting of water-lilies. It was, he noticed with some amusement, nailed to the wall to discourage thieves. Not that any self-respecting thief would steal that piece of crap, Scott mused.

After the startling rebuff by the New Recruits, the X-Men, with the Brotherhood in tow, had proceeded to the cheapest, most low-profile hotel in the area. The professor desperately needed some time to recover, both from his imprisonment and also from the shock of having his students turn against him. He blamed himself, Scott knew, and there were no words that would console him.

So much loss, so much pain, Scott thought as Lance tried to pop more quarters into the Amazing Vibrating Bed despite Jean's very vocal protests that it made too much noise. Blood has been shed. And for what? So we can hide?

Scott became aware that Lance and Kitty had stopped messing around and were watching the television screen over Jeans' shoulder with solemn expressions. They look like children, Scott thought, surprised. They are children, really.

So are you.

He stood and crossed to a point in the room where he too could view the flickering screen. It was a news broadcast, and a clean-cut man with a square jaw and nearly invisible eyebrows was reading from achingly white papers.

"…as Senators lobby for mandatory mutant registration. Leading the charge against the 'mutant menace' is Senator Hull, who likens the registration of mutants to the registration of firearms…"

"Fuck me, what now?" Lance muttered. The newscast cut to a grainy shot of the Senator in question at a press conference. He was tall and proud against the backdrop of the American flag, his face determined and his voice commanding. The perfect hero.

"…and it is our duty as Americans to protect our children, and our children's children! We cannot allow dangerous weapons to go undetected when the safety of our families is at stake…"

The crowd swarmed at the base of the podium, an excited babble of voices asking to be told what they needed so desperately to hear. Scott looked away, his throat suddenly tight.

"Turn it off," he said.

Jean paused, but then did as he asked. Scott was grateful; he'd half expected her to tell him that as leader it was his duty to remain informed on "the mutant situation." In a way he was ashamed that he wasn't doing just that, but… it was too much. Right now it was simply too much.

* * *

In a room two doors down, Charles Xavier sat watching the same news broadcast. Ororo Munroe sat beside him; her hands clenched into tight fists in her lap and her mouth a thin, bitter line.

"The great folly of mankind," Xavier said as the broadcast turned to information on a Canadian premier being arrested for drunk driving, "is his tendency to strike without information."

"Agreed," Ororo said softly. She sighed. "You should get some rest, Professor."

"Yes." Xavier remained motionless however, his eyes distant and musing. "Ororo… I cannot shake the feeling that all we have undergone is merely the beginning. There is some dark threat poised on the horizon, and I fear its shadow will consume us all."

Disturbed, Storm patted the Professor's shoulder gently. "Rest, Charles," she said, and took her leave.

It was a long time before Xavier found he could sleep.

* * *

Rogue, by nature of her mutant powers, was not a bed-sharing person. She lay in her rented single bed, doing her best to ignore the voices clanging through her head like church bells.

The blood in her veins was tainted with hatred. She could feel it singing through her body, making her clench her fists, twist her eyes shut against the tears that wanted to fall. There had been so much poison inside that woman… inside her mother. And now it was all hers. Rogue buried her face in her pillow and screamed silently, her voice lost in an emotional storm.

GetitoutgetitoutgetouttamahHEAD…

Exhausted, confused and nauseous from emotions that were not entirely her own, Rogue stumbled out of bed and f\to the bathroom. She fell to her knees, banging them painfully on the warped linoleum. Her hands found the porcelain rim of the toilet and she steadied herself as she threw up a foul, clear liquid. She hadn't eaten all day and there was nothing in her stomach. She dry-heaved twice, and then flushed the smell away. She put her forehead against the cool tile of the floor and wept slowly, her body shaking and her extremities numb.

Things will get better. They HAVE to.

* * *

The moth continued to bang on the window. It had no thoughts save the desire to burn itself away in the bright, holy light being cast from inside.

End Interlude